Just that thought alone made me want to drag Terry toward the counter. She had a point. If only Nick would know that even if I wear boyish clothing one hundred percent of the time, underneath all those clothes, I also have a hot body. The only difference between me and the skanks he takes home with him was that I don’t display mine for public viewing or auction.
Terry pulled me into a shop that sells cocktail clothes afterward. I stopped by the door and raised a brow at her.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“I distinctly remember saying no Ken-turns-Barbie,” I said a little crossly.
“I want to shop, too, you know. This is for me,” she said. I highly doubted that and yet I still came into the shop with her.
For lack of anything better to do, I checked out the racks to see the clothes that they sold. They were nothing overly fancy, but the styles were rather chic, simple but fashionable. Many of the cocktail clothes on display were flirty and sassy in bright colors of green, pink, yellow and purple. I found myself fascinated by the style, the fabric, and the colors. They weren’t the usual floral skirts I saw Jen wear all the time. These clothes were cute and sophisticated and suddenly I was curious about what I would look like trying on one of them.
Shoot! What was that about? Did I seriously just think about trying on a dress?
I pulled one from the rack. It was a bright yellow mini dress with tiny sleeves and flared skirt that was a few inches above the knees. I thought it was cute and flirty but elegant at the same time.
If I wore that, Ken would definitely look flashier than Barbie and there was no doubt in my mind that I would make it to the front page of our local tabloid.
I doubted there would be an occasion when I would be required to wear a dress anyway. This was probably the first one that impressed me well enough to make me want to try it on. It was pretty all right, but I meant it when I said I was just trying things out, not totally going the opposite pole. The dress, no matter how beautiful, may be a little too much for my little experiment.
I waited outside the shop until Terry completed her purchases. Then I asked her if we could go to the salon. It had been more than a month since my last haircut and my hair now had gone long and out of style. I wanted to try wearing it long and braided. I would still do it, but now, my undercut was completely gone and my hair was all over the place. The only fashionable thing for me to do was to wear a bonnet or a cap over it and hide it from public view.
I told the hairdresser to fix it and do what he thought would be stylish given the length he would be working on.
Terry gave him additional instructions: “Bring out the best in her face. Leave the purple highlights. They give her a bit of spunk.”
I glared at Terry from the mirror.
“What? We’re already doing a makeover. Why not go the extra mile? No use wearing the clothes we bought and then shaving your head bald,” she said to me matter-of-factly.
“I think I know what to do,” the hairdresser told us. “Leave it to me.”
I couldn’t breathe properly for the next forty minutes while Leon, my stylist, worked his magic on my hair.
When he was done and made me look at myself in the mirror, I was stunned++. He did a pixie haircut on me with long one-sided bangs, which showed the purple highlights. It made my eyes appear bigger, my face smaller, my lips poutier.
“Oh my God!” Terry gasped from behind me. “You are a genius, Leon!” She looked into my eyes through the mirror. “And you, Ken Clarke, should start calling yourself Belle! Because you are beautiful!”
“You know my real name?” I asked, a little surprised.
Terry shrugged. “I got curious. You didn’t tell Brett to keep it a secret.”
I looked at myself back in the mirror and realized that yes, I did look a little bit more like a girl now, but I did not feel even slightly weird about it at all. I do not look bad at all. I wondered if Nick would see me now, would he still call me his ‘little brother’?
When I came out of the salon with Terry, I was experiencing a surge of different emotions. I felt challenged because even if I was saying that I wasn’t doing this for Nick, I would never be able to resist proving him wrong. I felt excited because I couldn’t wait to see whether I would succeed in this little scheme I had in my head, which Terry was now encouraging. I also felt happy because for the first time in many years, I was not afraid to try something completely different. I was stepping into a completely different territory. I was exploring a different world and this time, I wasn’t doing it for anybody else. I was doing it for myself.
***
As I was packing to go back to Nick’s house, I received a text message from him. “Will be out. May not come home ‘til tomorrow. I left the key under the flower pot in the garage. Maybe it’s better if you stayed with Brett again tonight. Will check up on you later.’”
I heaved a frustrated sigh. I was looking forward to seeing him. Actually, more excited to see how he was going to react when he saw the semi-transformed me.
When Brett saw me, his jaw literally dropped. I was hoping that was a good thing and I was hoping Nicholas would notice that I looked even just a little bit more feminine than the last version of Ken Clarke that he’d seen.
But when I saw his message, I felt a little disappointed. I was hoping for a dramatic entrance. After all, I spent the day for a major makeover and Nick’s opinion of the new version of me actually mattered—even if I couldn’t understand it and even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“Ready to go?” Brett asked as he peeked around the door.
No. I was tempted to stay one more night since Nick wouldn’t be home. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep properly again. The nightmares would always come back to haunt me. Somehow, Nick was the only person who made me feel safe. He knew exactly what was happening to me and he was patient enough to withstand my nightly ordeal.
However, tonight, it was going to be an empty house. But better to scream in the middle of the night in an empty house than here in Brett’s house where I could arouse panic and suspicion.
I arrived at Nick’s house at seven in the evening. Like he said, I found the key under the pot in the garage. I armed the house alarm so I knew I would be safe inside. If my father was just waiting for the opportunity for me to be alone so he could have me abducted, he wouldn’t succeed without alarming the police.
I popped my new clothes into the washing machine, then I cooked myself a nice meal. I drank about two bottles of beer on the patio, just to be tipsy enough to sleep immediately when I hit the bed.
I had a missed call from Nick when I was in the shower. He sent me a text asking if I stayed with Brett for the night. I knew he preferred that. I didn’t answer because I didn’t want him to worry nor did I want to lie. If I told him I didn’t, he’d be worried and I wanted him to stop thinking I was his problem, his responsibility. He didn’t need to stop his world or rearrange his life because of me. In a few months, I will be out of this town and he wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. I didn’t have to depend on him.
By ten o’clock, I was in the bedroom attempting to sleep. I fidgeted, twisted, turned, and rolled about a million times. My body was tired but my mind was still active. Worse, in the dark of the room, I kept picturing the face of the man who attacked me. I couldn’t help imagining that he was there in the room with me, waiting for the right moment to attack, hoping that this time, no one would be around to rescue me.
After two hours, my body was growing very tired but my mind just wouldn’t let me rest. I turned on one light, two lights, and eventually all the lights in the room, but nothing seemed to be working.
Finally, I went down to the kitchen so I could make some hot chamomile tea, hoping it would calm my senses. As I was about to go up the room, Nick’s study caught my eye. He left the lights on inside and the door ajar. I went inside. His desk had some blueprints on them and some sketches of a façade of a building, lobbies, and office rooms.
He had a stereo and when I turned it on, soft chill-out music filled the room, reminding me that I wanted to rest. Last night, I barely got four hours of continuous sleep. I liked the beat of the last song Nick was playing. I skipped to the next two songs. I smiled. Nick and I have the same taste in music.
I sat on the bed in the corner of the room. I remembered it was a sofa when I first saw it. Maybe Nick slept here last night and he didn’t bother to turn it back into a sofa. But the blankets were neatly folded on top of the pillow. It felt soft and cozy. When I lay down on it, I could smell Nick’s faint aftershave. I closed my eyes and imagined that he was just there beside me—keeping me safe, keeping me warm, assuring me that I was not alone, that I would never be.
Slowly, my mind relaxed and I felt myself drifting off. I didn’t know how long I lay there quietly, peacefully. I didn’t try to open my eyes, thankful that finally sleep was taking over my paranoid mind, my tired body, and my disturbed senses.
When I opened my eyes again, there was light coming in from the glass window. I was still in Nick’s study. I sighed in relief that I was able to make it through the night in peace—alone. Then, I heard a familiar voice speaking behind me.